Don't mess with the Prickleweed
by Reyavie
Summary: "It might just bite back." A year after the Blight, Ines the Botanist and Wynne the Healer are just very good friends, aren't they? How did this start again? One-shot about disfunctional mages.


**Disclaimer**: I own absolutely and completely nothing. Bioware has that particular pleasure.

**Author's note: **Random idea born from a conversation with Shakespira. Just _how_ did Ines and Wynne get along back then? Since they love each other so deeply in the present.

**Word count: **1369.

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><p>Generally, Ines was a calm person. The sort of person who could remain in her corner for hours in a row and not be bothered in the slightest about it. She was calm. Steady. Comfortable in her own skin. Unfortunately, that also reduced her ability to deal with people, especially those who couldn't keep their tongues from wagging on a twenty four hour basis.<p>

But she dealt with them. In the hallways, in the library, the places where she forcibly had to share quarters with her fellow mages. Kept her head high, rolled her eyes skyward and tried to keep quiet when the most inane things were thrown her way. Seriously, they were _mages_. More than that, they were _Enchanters_. Wasn't that supposed to mean they were more than the common folk? Supposed to work harder maybe, be more? The young woman didn't repeat this question anymore. The answer so simple. Mages were just as stupid as everyone else.

This one, in particular, wasn't stupid per se. Just annoying. Maker, deadly annoying.

"Again messing with the dirt, Arancia?"

To the point where her gardening tools should really be taken from her hands because they are _sharp_ and handy objects in case Ines decides to act on her annoyance.

Wynne's a good mage, sure. Apparently, a considerably strong healer with a good attachment to the Fade. Some primal knowledge added. So much self-righteousness that it practically bursts out of her skin and attaches itself to her every word. Maker, an ego that would be enough to rival a Magister. And Andraste strike her down where she stands if the other woman doesn't think she knows better than everyone else.

"Arancia? I'm talking to you!"

_Yes_, Ines thinks rather dryly, _half the room has already noticed_. _How discreet_. Again, the idiocy of some people. The botanist has no wish to be grouped with the whole troupe of morons so she just focuses on her work. Kneeling on the floor, hands deep in fresh earth and with a pile of seeds right by her side, she keeps quiet, prodding the earth carefully. A little dry, not good enough just yet.

Above her though, the shadow becomes harder to ignore, the words that come out of the other mage's lips, of her perfect little figure and the annoying trace of alcohol of her magic. Wynne doesn't kneel either. That's for commoners. But she deigns herself to lower her precious back in order to stop Ines' work, judgmental eyes suddenly forcing themselves into the younger woman's line of vision.

_Slamming the shovel against her forehead would be beneath you. Remember._

"Enough with this foolishness, Arancia. You are no child to stare at a wall and ignore when you are being talked to." The little prim hairstyle, the pursed lips, _look at me, I am above you, listen_. It'd be enough to make a lesser woman go with the violent impulse. "The First Enchanter has required your presence two hours ago. And after you ignoring both mages sent, you still don't listen! All for this groveling on the earth you do. It's high time you do something practical, something useful for the Circle."

Oh.

_Oh no, she didn't._

Breathe. _Breathe, Ines_. This hadn't been the first time someone told her this. In fact, the bunch of ignorant oxen she is forced to live with repeated it often. But having it said like this. Directly. Without pretense – _fine, the bitch has some guts_ – and in that tone, like the Maker himself is saying his will through her.

It just makes Ines very _very_ illogical.

"All right, I think that's bloody enough now." She speaks finally. In an even tone, not even hissed, not close to show half her irritation. But silence couldn't have crashed with more strength had the ceiling chosen to lack walls to stand. Ines. Calm Ines. Silent Ines. Patient Ines. Thoroughly pissed off Ines and if she wasn't that far off, she would have noticed how there is a collective step back from all spectators.

The Enchanter rises from the floor, muddied hands slapped against her robes impatiently – _violently_ – though the temptation to do so in the other's face is right beneath the surface.

Another step back. Maker above, she is forced to live with _sheep_.

"I didn't go to the First Enchanter because, as I've explained to the first _moron _and the second that came." And now the third, as no one can deliver a bloody message. "He merely wants me to update the inventory and these seeds will spoil unless I use them in the next hours. A consequence of someone else not doing its job. Like, for example, say you. Who are supposed to help him keeping track of what comes in and out. Why is he asking me to do _your_ job again?"

The princess opens her mouth to reply. Ines beats her to it.

"And, about _my useless _job," the botanist continues briskly. A hand against her hip, no trace of a smile and a background noise in which someone calls for a Templar._ Why? It's not like she'll kill her. Just bash her ego a couple thousand pegs and destroy her little pedestal. "_I can save a man from the brink of death with a couple of leaves. I can give strength, I can dispel poison, I can enhance power or turn skin as hard as rock. All with seeds and roots. Everything that's beneath your feet and above your head. I would be able to help people even if I wasn't a mage. Would you? What would _you_ be if not a mage?"

Silence falls between them, around them except for those little snickers in the back. And Wynne, that one has her mouth opening and closing, unsure for the first time in who knows how long. Ah, she sees now, doesn't she? Fade can be danger, can be joy but, truth is, the _real world_ is the important deal. The real world is where you save people. Feed them. Heal them. Without magic, Wynne's just a cute bauble.

_Useless, her white little bum._

"Right. I see I gave you something to think about for a change. So feel free to despise my work and I'll feel free to despise you for not seeing anything else out of that small box you call your knowledge. Now shoo."

Ines doesn't bother to smirk. Doesn't even look at the other woman, her victory's so obvious in the lack of response. Instead, she gives her whole attention back to her lovely plants, careful fingers in each leaf while checking for damage. As if Wynne's presence had been enough to contaminate her cultures.

When she eventually does move, the woman has stalked off, the sheep have wandered to gossip to everyone else and Irving stands at a corner.

"She has been complaining about a rash lately," the man starts cautiously. Maker, _Wynne again_? Did she offend _Him_ somehow? "You wouldn't know wha—?"

"Rashvine nettle," a curt response as she starts gathering her tools in quick movements.

Narrowed eyes. Boy does that when focusing on some enigma. "And how can you be so certain?"

"Because I've been putting it in her bed for the past week and a half." Then and only then, Ines smiles up at him. "She complained to Senior Enchanter Crasen that I was occupying required space with my elfroot. I just showed her one of the many things it can heal. Purely educational motives, I swear to you."

He's cute but he really shouldn't leave his jaw hanging like that. Makes her want to push him into the idiotic sheep category.

"Are you going to just stand there and look at me?" Dirty hands on her knees, a closed expression that really doesn't betray her good mood. "Either help out or go sooth the princess's ego. I don't need would-be Templars staring."

He doesn't leave, the smart boy. Very smart boy. And her little outburst makes sure she's not annoyed from then on. From the princess to her subjects, they all give her a wide berth to do her job. Which is _definitely_ a good thing.

Her deathrooth had been begging to be used after all.


End file.
